Still burning toast, but the lighting’s great
Bonjour, I’m Kai.
I’m one of those ’80s babies who kind of looks like everybody’s cousin or neighbor. The kind of guy who’ll show up to your place with a casserole and a joke he’s already told you before. I really can’t hide my age or my millennialism anymore, and God knows I’ve tried. For years. Decades, even. (I pulled a muscle in my stomach just trying to hold “decades” in.)
I cook, I shoot, and I eat way too many test batches. Oh Là Là Recipes is where I share the good ones. Some days I cook because I’m hungry. Other days I bake because I need to slow my brain down. I’m still not sure if I love cooking more or if it’s the food photography that keeps pulling me back in. I try to make the photos look as good as the food tastes, because let’s be honest, eyes feast too. And yeah, sometimes I spend more time trying to snap the perfect shot than I did making the dish… but I don’t want to talk about it.
What I will admit is this: I hate the cleaning part. Like, truly, madly, deeply. Every now and then (okay, often), I let the dirty dishes crust up in the sink for a solid 24 hours. A guy needs to rest after throwing down in the kitchen, you know?
My style? Comfort food. I love traditional dishes, the kind you remember from childhood or that one unforgettable vacation. But I also get a weird joy from testing flavor combos that have no business working, until they do. It keeps things interesting, even when it’s just dinner for one.
This blog is where I put it all. Messes, moments, recipes, and a little beauty to go with the flavor (if I say so myself).
Before the whisk, there was the postcard…
The story of Oh Là Là Recipes starts long before I ever picked up a whisk. Back in the late ’80s, my mom, your classic American art student, chose France for her spiritual awakening (and her mandatory semester abroad). Somewhere between sketching sunlit town squares and wandering tiny museums, she met my dad, a handsome French business student with a flirty smile (her words, not mine).
Their love held on through long-distance calls and handwritten postcards for over a year. After many long-haul flights and probably a few emotional airport goodbyes, my dad moved to California to marry my mom. A little while later, I showed up. About seven years after that, my luxurious only-child life came to an end when my little sister made her grand entrance. Classic Gen Z timing and energy, tbh.
Growing up, I spent summers in Provence with my Mamie and Papi, eating buttery croissants, sun-warmed fruit, and loud homemade meals that stretched into the night; and I spent winters in Ohio with my other grandparents, enjoying casseroles, cookies, and Christmas.
I picked up French under the kitchen table, eavesdropping on béchamel debates between my dad and Mamie. I say kruh-SAHNT in LA and krwah·sahn in Paris. Actually, and hang on while I put on my beret, they’re called chocolatines in the South and pain au chocolat up north, but that’s a fight for another day.
What I’m trying to say is, you wouldn’t know I’m French when I speak English, and you wouldn’t guess I’m American when I speak French. I thank my parents for that. They made sure I grew up fluent not just in two languages, but in both cultures.
So yeah, that’s Oh Là Là Recipes. A little bit of France, a little bit of the US, a lot of comfort, and probably too much butter. If it makes you smile when you eat it, then I did something right.
Let’s add a little oh là là to your meals, shall we?
Bon appétit,
Kai